


Second God Lucky

by forgetmenotjimmy



Series: Tell Me I'm A Good Person [1]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Broken Families, Casual Sex, Catholicism, Childhood Trauma, English Seminary, F/M, Immigration & Emigration, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Masochism, Medicine, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experiences, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Swearing, Teenage Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 15:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17707064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetmenotjimmy/pseuds/forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: Robert Chase first learned that he was a bad person at 6 years old. Despite eventually learning that everyone else was just as screwed up, he finds that he can't devote his life to God. So he finds another god to follow.





	1. God #1

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of a series about Chase struggling with his self-worth. It will cover his pre-series life, looking how he came to where he was at the beginning of the series.

Robert Chase first learned that he was a bad person at 6 years old. He had been playing in the back yard like always, skin itchy from the sand in the play box and the summer sun. Unable to find his tennis racket and having given up trying to use his mother’s, he’d found a small metal pole to hit his ball with. It wasn’t as much fun as playing with someone else, but he was managing. A car pulled up and Robert paused to look over. He knew that car! Abandoning his game, he raced over just as the driver door was opening.

“Daddy!” He cried, launching himself at a long pair of legs. Glancing down, holding his briefcase to his chest, Dr Rowan Chase awkwardly patted his son’s head.

“Hello Robert. Let go of daddy now.” Little Robert intended no such thing – he knew what happened when he let go: daddy wouldn’t come back for a long time. “Robert, let me go so we can go inside.” Also knowing that warning tone, Robert dutifully released the legs and reached for the free hand. Dr Chase closed and locked the car, then took the hand and lead them inside. Near bursting with excitement, Robert almost couldn’t decide what to show his daddy first. At school they’d been making paper maché stars, he saw his on the kitchen counter and tugged his daddy’s hand. Dr Chase was wrinkling his nose at the mess and looking around.

“Maria?” He called impatiently, resisting Robert’s tugs. After a moment, he looked down. “Where’s your nanny?”

“Daddy! Come and look what I made!” Frowning, Dr Chase let himself be left to the table and his son proudly showed him the star. The doctor scrutinised it briefly, humming approvingly.

“Very good, Robert. Where’s Maria?” Robert shrugged before lighting up.

“Will you play with me?”

“Maybe later. Where’s your mother?”

“She’s sleeping.” Dr Chase frowned, glancing at the kitchen clock. He marched to the bedroom, Robert trailing after him. “I can’t find my racquet. Do you know where it is?” Opening the bedroom door, Dr Chase called sharply.

“Karen!” His son peered in behind him, then stumbled in as his father strode to the en suite. “Karen!” The bed was unmade, half-empty glasses and bottles on the bedside table and dresser. Robert scrunched up his nose at the smell of mummy’s special drinks. Sometimes when she kissed him, the smell made his tummy feel bad. His father had forced the door of the en suite and was bent over his mother’s unmoving form on the floor. Robert thought it was silly of mummy to lie there where it was cold. Though…now they could all play together! He started forward: his father held mummy’s wrist, then touched her neck and barked an order. “Robert, get the phone.” Tummy twisting, Robert asked tremulously.

“Is mummy okay?”

“The phone. Now!” Startled, Robert ran to the nightstand and grasped the phone with both hands. He brought it back to his father, who was now moving his mother around, muttering bad words under his breath. He grabbed the phone without even looked and dialled, eyes fixed on mummy, who was still sleeping. Robert wanted to say it was okay, mummy never moved or dreamed when she slept, but he didn’t dare. His father began speaking into the phone, mentioning an ambulance. Robert knew that was meant for sick people. He was scared now.

“Is mummy sick?” His father didn’t answer, still speaking into the phone. Robert stared at his mother, tears beginning to form. He edged closer. “Mummy?”

“Stay back.” His father pushed him away firmly, making him stumble a little. Then Robert remembered. Mummy’s medicine! He ran over to the dresser, using the chair to climb up to see the top. Concentrating, he searched, examining the various items before pulling open a little drawer and finding the yellow bottle. Triumphant, he climbed back down, clutching the bottle in his fist. His father was off the phone when Robert called.

“Mommy’s medicine!” His father’s eyes narrowed and he took the bottle, reading the label. His frown deepened. He looked down at his wife again, expression ugly.

“Go to your room.” It took a moment for Robert to realise that his father was talking to him. Confused, he opened his mouth to speak before his father exploded. “Go, you idiot child! Haven’t you already done enough?” A big black hole had opened up in Robert’s chest and he felt cold. “Look at her!” He pointed at the slumped figure on the floor. “Look at what you’ve done! She was fine before you came along! Now she’s…a mess.” Tears rolled down Robert’s cheeks and he whimpered. “Go.” Dr Chase whispered viciously. Legs unstuck, Robert fled.

The next morning, Maria found Robert sleeping in his treehouse.

“Robbie? Where’s mummy?” Even though he’d cried himself to sleep, at her warm, musical voice fresh tears welled.

“The ambulance took her ‘way!”

“Come down from there and tell me.” Still sniffing and wiping his face, he acquiesced. On the ground, she enveloped him in a hug and he explained as best he could. When he’d calmed down and she’d taken him inside for some breakfast, the phone rang. “Doctor Chase!” Maria acknowledged when she answered it. She went into the corridor, speaking in low tones as Robert finished his toast. After a while she came back, pale, but she only enlisted Robert’s help in tidying up before they played games.

After a few days, mummy came home. She was weak and ashen and smelled funny, but she smiled when Robert hugged her and whispered how much she loved him into his hair.

Over the years Robert would forget the exact details of that terrible day: the chain of events, the accusations, the night spent in the treehouse. His father’s face though, the disgust, the anger in his voice as he shouted at him, the fact that he had hurt mummy, that she was sick because of him, those things stayed with him.

…

9 years later, when Robert found his mother collapsed beside her bed, he went to move her into the recovery position like always but something made him pause. She wasn’t breathing. Using his first aid training, he performed CPR, ignoring the acrid taste of vomit and gin, and managed to get her breathing again. Riding along in the ambulance, he mostly ignored the paramedics, just stared at his mother’s wane face underneath the oxygen mask. He heard his father’s voice in his head.

In the waiting room he filled in the admittance forms and then got out his geometry homework, blocking out the sounds and smells of sick people with the ease of the experienced. He was almost done when a doctor came to ask where his father was. Robert wasn’t being uncooperative when he shrugged; he genuinely didn’t know. Maybe he was hiding how much it bothered him, but that was all. The doctor explained that his mother was in a coma: her brain had been too long without oxygen and it was unlikely that she would wake up. Robert’s head began to get fuzzy and his stomach plummeted. He’d failed her again. Horrified, he stammered something and hightailed it outside. Stumbling past the smoker’s area, he ended up on a bench in a small courtyard. Clutching his hair and trying desperately to hold in his tears, he put his head between his legs and breathed deeply. An elderly patient with an IV drip sat beside him mutely. Sniffing and wiping his face hastily, Robert didn’t even glance his way. Neither of them spoke as Robert regained his composure. Vaguely, he remembered that Sandra was at a friend’s house and would need to be told. Should he ask the mother to drop her off here or at home? Was he even going to stay himself? What was the use? Who knew how long it would take to get through to his father? And what was going to happen to him and Sandra? Stay with Rowan? He didn’t even know where his father lived anymore. Flattening his palms on his knees, he pushed down and breathed out. One thing at a time.

In the end it took three days for his father to arrive. Robert didn’t even listen to the excuse. He and Sandra were doing their homework by their mother’s bedside when the door opened. Sandra gave Dr Chase a perfunctory hug, Robert just averting his gaze until his sister returned to his side. There were only two things which united the siblings: looking after their mother and stonewalling their father. He had made more of an effort after Sandra was born, but it hadn’t lasted long. By then, Robert hadn’t expected it to, even as he’d prayed fervently that his father would stay. In his typically awkward manner, Dr Chase asked how they were. Sandra tutted and rolled her eyes, the gesture of a much older girl and Robert just shrugged before asking bluntly.

“What are you going to do?” Dr Chase sighed and confirmed Robert’s prediction. Their mother was gone; there was no point keeping her on life support. Sandra sobbed, running to her mother and holding a limp hand. Robert stayed where he was, letting his sister have her moment. With a great weariness, he thought to himself that this have been inevitable. In truth, their mother had been dead to them for a long time. The kind, smiling woman who used to sing him to sleep and plait Sandra’s hair had left years ago, leaving only a husk who slept all day, puked all over herself and came in and out of the house like a guilty teenager, snapping at her children’s accusing gazes. There had been flashes of the old version, but Robert had begun to liken them to possessions; the ghost of his mother taking control of a host body. The moments beautiful and brief. Sandra hadn’t accepted it yet, but she would. The men watched the little girl weep for a moment before Robert turned back to his father. “What happens to us now?” His tone indicated that he was only referring to himself and his sister. Dr Chase looked like he wanted to sigh or rub his forehead but instead he said.

“I’ll make some calls.” Neither child asked to stay with him, nor did he offer. The family doctor and attending entered then and Robert gently pulled his sister away. She cried harder and hit out at him blindly, but he just hushed her and she tired quickly. Emotionally drained, she clung to him and winced when the beeps flattened to a dull knell. Robert just watched silently as the husk died. Despite himself, he whispered a prayer.

…

They went to live with their mother’s sister. Julie was a high-powered lawyer with a nice house, a husband and a daughter around Sandra’s age. As she’d given up trying to help her sister – the husband often made comments like ‘she was beyond help’ – the guilt was heavy in her face. Although busy, she doted on the girls and made an effort with Robert, cajoling her husband to do the same. They changed schools due to the distance so Robert had to say goodbye to the nuns and priests he’d known since he’d been a child. They were sorrowful and wished him well and he realised, quite suddenly, that they’d been his true family. Offering advice and comfort on the occasions that he’d let down his walls enough to ask. Never a particularly affectionate child, he’d found himself clinging to Sister Constance at the gate. She’d whispered to him, ‘keep walking with God and he’ll guide you.’

The first few weeks after the funeral, he lived in a kind of trance-like state. New house, new neighbourhood, new school. It was too much information to process so he found himself coasting along. Holding books and sitting in classes, drinking water and staring at food; he existed. Sandra began to come out of her shell a little, playing with their cousin and making a good impression at her new school. Robert, however, found himself falling.

Lost without his role as Sandra’s unofficial guardian, angry at God’s will for his mother’s fate and shamed by the realisation that he didn’t belong in this happy family picture, Robert began breaking away. Secretive and fiercely academic, he’d always been a teacher’s pet with an acquaintanceship with a few of the other nerdy kids. Now he befriended the rebellious teens, using his allowance to buy drink and drugs, staying out late in places he shouldn’t be. He traded a bottle of Jack for the privilege of self-consciously fumbling in the back of a beat-up Ford as Candice sighed and eyed the bottle, impatient for another swig. He stopped going to classes or turned up exhausted and slept his way through them.

His aunt and the school tried to be understanding, her husband said the apple never falls far and his sister mostly ignored him, except to tell him that he was being stupid. But he knew that already. That was the point.

A few days after his 15th birthday, he was creeping into the house late at night, stinking of pot, when he heard voices in the kitchen. Curious, as it was very late, he stole over and overheard the husband advocating sending him to military school. Apparently he was in danger of corrupting the girls with his wild ways. It was too late for him, but not for his sister. Jaw tightening, Robert wanted to burst in and correct him. He’d been born wrong. He’d poisoned his mother, not the other way around. Instead he snuck back to his room, packed a bag and hesitated over his notepad. Heart pounding, he tiptoed into his sister’s room and woke her.

“I’m leaving.” Grumbling, she swatted at him tiredly.

“Don’t care.”

“No, I mean. I’m leaving for good.” Blinking, she propped herself up on an elbow.

“What? Why?” There was no way to express the confusing tangle of emotions writhing inside him, but he tried.

“I don’t belong here.”

“What are you talking about?” Realising that she was too good to understand, he just said.

“I love you.” But she reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Wait! Don’t leave!” Throat beginning to thicken, Robert swallowed.

“You don’t need me anymore.”

“You’re my brother.” He sobbed a little then and Sandra squeezed his arm. Her eyes were soft and searching, trying to understand.

“There’s something wrong with me, Sandy.”

“You’re not sick, are you?” Shaking his head, unwilling to go into the depth of the brokenness of his soul, he sniffed and promised.

“I’ll call you.” Still uncomprehending but realising the futility, Sandra blinked back tears and hugged him. Robert let himself enjoy the embrace and then slipped into the night.

Less than a month later, on New Year’s Day, he woke in a hospital in Melbourne as John Doe. The attending told him that he’d narrowly escaped brain damage from the lack of oxygen. His heart had stopped in the ambulance, but only for a minute. Robert remembered. He remembered the heat and the chemical high and the harsh light and feeling of peace. He’d been cradled in a warmth that had soaked right through to his immortal soul and he’d felt a presence all around him. God had been with him. He asked the doctor if there was a Catholic priest available. Father Thompkins listened to his confession and then told him about a seminary in England.

…

England was cold and wet, Wiltshire in January even more so. To the Australian, it felt like living in a cold shower. Father Thompkins had taken his case to a bishop in England who had in turn admitted his application to St Paul’s Seminary in South West England. Robert was flown over a few days after he’d been discharged from the hospital, just in time for the next Selection Conference. There he went through several interviews with the priests, other staff members; he even had a quick sit down with the bishop who had kindly taken on his application. Despite feeling out of place and unworthy of their judgement, he managed to answer their questions and talk about his dedication to God.

“Whatever His plan is for me, I’m ready now.”

They must have agreed because he was accepted and joined the other seminarians.

Life at the seminary was humble with everyone pulling their weight. Despite his wealthy background, Robert was used to looking after himself and his sister. Even more, his recent stint on the streets garnered a new appreciation for a roof and four walls. Whilst he didn’t relish the simple food, draughty rooms and other austerities, he was fully committed to dedicating his life to God. As he was still a minor, he’d needed his father’s consent and signature on the visa application. The seminary’s coordinator had spoken to his father’s assistant who had faxed over the signed documents. Robert had no idea what his father thought of the idea – if anything. Although he’d requested that his father not be informed of the details of his medical file, he suspected that the doctor had followed protocol and told him anyway. Robert tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter.

The other seminarians were mostly older than him, with 23 being the average age, and although curious about the stoic and sick-looking Australian teenager in their midst, they weren’t hostile. In fact, the priests at St Paul’s pushed for a community-driven seminary, with everyone supporting each other’s paths, so everyone was friendly to the shy boy from half-way across the world.

The priests knew of his ‘troubled’ past and a few didn’t approve of his inclusion, but Canon David Green, the Rector, preached forgiveness and repentance. Robert clung to the idea that he could be cleansed; that he could become an instrument of God.

In addition to his duties: serving in the refectory, ‘house jobs’ – which were just chores around the seminary – and attending classes, Robert had sessions with Reverend Green. A licensed therapist, he used a mixture of secular talk therapy and religious doctrine to try and make Robert realise his self-worth. It was tough going, especially at first. Robert had lived with his guilt and shame for so long, they felt like giants towering over him. To talk about them…

Through conversations with the other seminaries: at mealtimes, whilst studying or doing chores together, he learned about their lives. All of them had been brought up Catholic but their lives had all been different. Some had studied at university, some worked in ‘normal’ jobs, one or two had travelled abroad before coming back to serve God. Whilst no one spilled out their darkest secrets, he came to understand that most of them had had doubts about the direction of their lives. Hushed conversations about the delights of the female form and temptation to jack off once the lights went out were rare but memorable. None of them were perfect, in fact for some of them he wouldn’t have described them as very priestly – too childish and naïve to be able to lead a congregation. He brought this up, as tactfully as he could, to Reverend Green and the man had chuckled.

“None of us are born into our roles, Robert. We all must learn.” Emboldened by this revelation, the sessions featured less awkward silences and more awkward talking. Little by little, as the snow melted and the rains pelted the ground, the Reverend cast light on his hurts and crimes, showing him that he was only as human as the rest of them. Robert began to believe.

Accepting that he wasn’t evil incarnate, realising that everyone was struggling to make the right choices, had the unexpected side effect of testing Robert’s dedication to the cause. He hadn’t purposefully struck up conversations with the groundskeeper’s wife in order to end up in bed, but it happened nonetheless. Her knowing eyes and wicked lips more than enough to entice him away from his duties and under the sheets. The removal of his fear of eternal damnation released his selfish desires and made him realise that he wasn’t prepared to assume all of the duties of a priest. Years later, he wondered what had happened to her: he’d been under the age of consent in England and she must have known that. Then again, it was possible that the Seminary hadn’t reported the incident, if the groundskeeper had agreed to keep it quiet as well.

At the time, all he’d registered had been that the disappointment of Reverend Green hurt him more than the irate groundskeeper’s rake. Surprisingly understanding – perhaps hoping he wouldn’t report it to the police or tell his father – the Reverend advised Robert to leave and find how else he could do God’s work. Shamed by how little shame he felt at his failure, Robert took all the kind words with him in his heart. Rain now sounded like peace.

…

Robert returned to Australia and his father set him up at a private college to finish his education and take the exams he needed for medical school. Despite his time out, he was still a year ahead of his peers. His aunt reluctantly allowed him back to stay, laying down the law with an iron fist. Any hint of wrongdoing and he’d be back out on the street. The husband had since moved out to live with his mistress and following his example, his sister and cousin were acting out: bitching about little things, talking back when Julie told them to do chores and generally being ungrateful brats. Ostensibly in reaction to the pending divorce and pre-teen hormones, in his sister’s case: latent grief and trauma were probable factors. Robert could tell that his aunt feared drink, drugs and sex were in their near futures. Feeling guilty but knowing that there was nothing he could do to fix it, Robert concentrated on his studies. He went to school, ate with the others at the dinner table, did his assigned chores, but otherwise holed up in his room and crammed as much as possible.

Struggling to cope with her stressful job and even more frustrating home life, his aunt began relying on Robert more and more: calling from work to ask him to babysit the girls – if they were there – fixing dinner, putting on loads of washing and so on. One night she’d returned from the office, exhausted and frustrated and he’d confronted her. He’d bluntly stated that she should get help or risk burning out and becoming an alcoholic. Indignant, she’d tried to brush him off, but he’d stopped her in his tracks.

“Mum tried to do it alone. She failed.” He set his jaw before sighing and finishing quietly. “I couldn’t help her.” Julie stared at him for a moment before breaking down. Uncomfortable with her tears, he patted her shoulder until she could compose herself. That night, they outlined a short-term action plan.

After that, their relationship improved dramatically. He helped out more where he could, the cooking and cleaning and parenting surprisingly comforting; meanwhile she cut back at work and made an effort to be home for dinner every night, spending weekends with the girls. By the time he graduated and was accepted into University of Sydney, they were at the stage where she hugged him goodbye, making him promise to call if he needed anything. For a wild moment, he pretended that it was his mother and tentatively hugged her back.

He was sure that his father had made a phone call to the board at the university. His grades were more than high enough but he was still only 16 and his brief stint in England and the drugs episode would have definitely raised concerns about his commitment. During his interview, the Head of Medical Studies had asked if he wanted to specialise in Rheumatology like his father, despite the fact that Robert hadn’t mentioned him at all. He had dodged the question, having reluctantly prepared for it, and it must have been obvious from his answer that he didn’t want to talk about it as no one brought it up again. Bothered by his father’s interference but powerless to do anything about it, Robert let it go. If he couldn’t be a father, at least he could be a distant benefactor.

Word of his famous father found its way to the other students, of course, so he was met with a mixture of envy and disdain. Add to that his status as minor and the Doogie Howser jokes were added to the suspicion of favouritism. However, as he failed to talk about his dad or flash around the cash, people eventually came to see him as the teetotal quiet one who would help you study in exchange for a bag of Toobs*.

Over the course of his second year, he was somehow adopted into a good natured group and begun to come out of his shell a little. At school, he’d always been hyper aware of how different he was from the other children. Skipping a few years and having to hide his dysfunctional home life, he’d never had any close friends, mostly staying by himself or talking to the friendlier nuns. Encouraged by the comradery of the group, however, he began contributing to the conversations every so often. His dark sense of humour never failing to catch someone off-guard.

Not wanting to fall into the same traps as just after his mother’s death, he avoided parties and nights out. Although he was 17, a year under the legal drinking age, no one was going to report him for having a few beers. One well-placed mention of his mum’s addiction to the bleeding heart of the group and people stopped trying to convince him to join them. In fact, in a move that surprised him, most of them started to mix things up with alcohol-free plans. Embarrassed but mostly touched by the gesture, Robert tried his best to be more social. By the end of classes and the beginning to his internship, he had successfully been brought into several of their confidences and had shared a little of himself in return.

He’d also somehow acquired a girlfriend. Whilst he’d slept around in high school and hooked up when he’d had the time and energy, he’d never done anything approaching dating. He knew what it looked like from friends and the movies, so when a pretty anaesthetist student had suggested going for a coffee without the euphemistic smile, Robert had agreed, curious. It also made him a little anxious, wandering what she expected of him; but once she’d made it clear that she just wanted to get to know him, he relaxed, letting her lead. He’d buried his lingering pain and fear and learned to keep his apathy firmly under wraps. So they dated and made out and eventually had okay sex and met each other’s friends. Others called them a cute couple and one day Robert realised that he’d been integrated into ‘normal’ society. Wondering what his mother would have said if they could speak, he hoped that she was looking down and smiling.

His relationship didn’t last as they went to different places to intern, but there were other women and the occasional foray to the gay district. Growing up he’d been attracted to both genders, though it had just been easier to go with girls as a teenager. One of his friends at his first internship was a lesbian and for her birthday they’d gone bar crawling in Oxford street, one of the main gay areas in Sydney. He stuck to beer so hadn’t forgotten any of the sights or the many, many overtures by cooing or lusty men who’d noticed his big blue eyes and blonde hair.

Although technically a sin by Catholic standards, Robert rated homosexual acts as harmless compared to his other sins. He didn’t initiate any encounters nor tempt those trying to resist. He already knew his weakness for sexual desire and didn’t worry about it. On track to be a doctor, he didn’t need to be chaste to serve God that way.

In part in recognition for the doctors who’d saved his life in Melbourne and in part to spite his father, he decided to specialise in cardiology and intensive care. Getting used to being called Dr Chase was probably the hardest part of those years, though there were plenty of other hardships and challenges. Although he never made best friends with any of the other residents, there was a certain comradery which made some things easier to deal with. He was one of the more resilient ones anyway, so he had a reputation as a calm port in the storm of incoming trauma patients. It hurt him just as much as the others to lose patients and he felt the panic too when faced with new situations he hadn’t seen before – he was just better at hiding his reactions.

…

After completing his residency in neurosurgery, he applied for a fellowship with Dr Carlisle in New York. It was a state-of-the-art intensive care unit and also had the benefit of being outside his father’s sphere of influence. He spent a productive year there, learning about the procedures and techniques in the unit and adapting to life in the United States.

The stereotypes were true: New Yorkers _were_ mean. Although he’d grown up in the suburbs, he had lived in big cities such as Melbourne and Sydney, so Robert was no stranger to sky scrapers and big crowds. New York, however, was something else. Some idiosyncrasies of Americans he would never understand. Tipping in cafés, driving on the other side of the road, having to add the tax on everything you buy and the people. They were larger than life, friendly but more impatient, expecting more and faster. Dr Carlisle pushed him, challenged him to learn and perform better than he thought he could. He was exhausted and stressed and alive. Though he missed the burning heat and salty air of his homeland, he did learn to appreciate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

A few months in and he met Kristen at a function his boss’s wife was throwing. A high-flying banker, she wore power suits and styled her hair in an elegant bun, a few strands of hair framing her face. Quick-witted and steely, sexy and experienced, she ate Robert up. They were introduced and he was immediately caught in her knowing gaze – reminded vividly of the groundskeeper’s wife. They had fiery and energetic sex in her sleek apartment: again and again. Often they wouldn’t even finish undressing, it was so frantic. One day he found out why she would keep her vests on. She had small round burns on her upper rib cage. Cigarette burns, she clarified matter-of-factly. As he’d been struggling to come up with an appropriate response she’d casually explained that she’d asked for them.

“My last Dom.” She said with a nostalgic smile.

“Uh…” Seeing his expression, she’d chuckled and promised to show him. They’d gone to some parties after that, nothing too extreme for the newbie, where he met seemingly normal people with unusual sexual tastes. Most of them had polite conversations with him, a few seeming to recognise how out of his depth he was and not wanting to make him uncomfortable. A couple sent him hungry looks and compliments on his baby face, laughing when he blushed. Kristen had talked to one of her friends about teaching Robert how to dominate her properly but after a few conversations the kind-eyed man had patted Robert on the shoulder and reassured him that he didn’t have to do anything he was uncomfortable with. He guessed that he hadn’t been as good at hiding his uneasiness with the whole concept of hurting her. Kristen stopped asking him after that and he could tell that her interest in him had died. She would often be looking out for someone at the functions and she must have found them because eventually she called it off.

“It’s been fun, junior. Take care.” He wasn’t sad to see it end.

Around that time, Sandra stopped taking his calls. She’d just turned 16 and although they’d hardly seen each other whilst he’d been studying, they’d had regular correspondence: mostly calls, sometimes emailing and the occasional postcard if one of them was travelling. Eventually he got through to his aunt Julie and she explained that Sandra had been pulling away from everyone: staying out late, drinking with friends and neglecting her studies completely. She hoped that it was just a phase and wouldn’t go as far as Robert’s spiral had gone. Worried but unable to take time off to try and get through to her, Robert settled for sending her increasingly concerned emails. Most of the time he tried not to worry about her. She was strong-willed but intelligent. Surely she’d snap out of it soon.

He tried not to feel like a failure. He wasn’t that successful.


	2. God #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter House.

After spotting a rare condition in one of his patients, someone suggested he apply for a place in Dr House’s new diagnostic team at PPTH. They’d phrased it as a joke. Something Robert understood after he found out who Dr House actually was. Well renowned in his field but also an ass, everyone Robert spoke to about it advised him against it – strongly. Well, a lack of social skills and a sharp tongue weren’t enough to deter Robert, who’d lived with worse, so he applied. He knew that his transcripts weren’t stellar – turns out he wasn’t his father’s son after all – but maybe Dr House wouldn’t care about grades. His previous bosses had given him good references so it was worth a shot.

The interview was an experience: like a scene from an absurdist comedy. Robert was sure that we would laugh about it one day. Probably. First, when he’d found the office, he’d knocked and been told by a strangled voice:

“Just a minute!” Thumps and low voices behind the drawn blinds intrigued him, but he remained outside. After a long silence, the door opened and a leggy brunette, made up within an inch of her life sashayed out. Robert realised with a jolt that she was an escort. Or, as he automatically turned to watch her walk away, she was deliberately made to look like one. She glanced over her shoulder, expression teasing and he just nodded an awkward greeting. Then he waited to be called in. And waited. And waited. He grew anxious as the minutes ticked by and no call came. Was he supposed to knock again? Had something happened?

Finally, he was called in and he forced himself to take a deep breath and walk in normally. Dr House was seated behind a desk; unshaven and wearing rumpled clothes, no doctor’s coat in sight. He fit the profile of an antisocial savant. Ignoring Robert’s outstretched hand, House assessed him briefly for a minute before launching into a differential.

“Patient presents with…” Straightening, Robert was about to remark on that impossibility when he noticed the patient file open on the desk. House closed it. “Uhuh, no peeking!” Mind racing, Robert asked some follow up questions and lost himself in the puzzle. At first it seemed made up, and no solution presented itself, but Robert persisted. Frowning, he continued suggesting as House continued discarding and drip feeding him more information – almost forgetting he was technically in an interview. Mentally reviewing the patient profile again, eyes resting on the file, he considered. House must know the answer, so it must be an old case…

“Hold on, how old is this case?” Gaze sharp, House said dismissively.

“Not relevant.”

“It could be, even if it’s from 10 years ago, the tests and equipment-”

“It’s not that old and not relevant to the solution.”

“So there is a solution.”

“Why wouldn’t there be? Think I’d set you an impossible diagnosis.” Detecting the insincerity in the overly-wounded tone, Robert just returned to the puzzle. “Nice ass, right?”

“Huh?”

“Candy.”

“The…woman?” House nodded, looking at Robert expectantly. “I didn’t really notice.”

“Dude, I know you looked.” Robert frowned.

“The blinds were…” Remembering the long time between the woman leaving and the call to enter, he glanced around the office: a phone and another door… He looked back at House who was observing him closely. It didn’t matter how he ‘knew’ – he could have made a firm guess based on Robert being a healthy male – what mattered was his reaction. Instead of commenting, he just said his two ideas concerning the diagnosis. “Both are equally as likely.”

“Which one? No time to test, she’s gonna die soon.” Robert blinked for a moment and then House sighed, seeming to have become bored with watching him struggle. He told him the answer as he swung a little on his chair. Without the puzzle to distract him, the young doctor grew nervous under House’s piercing gaze, but he tried to keep his breathing steady. However, instead of asking about his medical experience or even personal interests or history, House started asking him odd questions like what he’d eaten for breakfast, why Scripture was so against seafood and which wham! song was the best. A little unsettled but trying not to let it show, Robert answered as best he could, employing flippancy over sincerity. Then House mentioned casually.

“Your daddy called earlier.” Surprised, as he hadn’t told his father or any of his contacts about his intention to apply for the position, he thought for a minute. Ah, his boss. Perhaps he’d rung Dr Chase about it – despite Robert’s resentment towards his father and reluctance to talk about him, Dr Carlisle often brought him up. That had been a downside to that position, even if Carlisle was obviously oblivious to his tactlessness. Realising that he hadn’t responded in any way, Robert coughed.

“I didn’t ask him to.”

“Obviously.” Abruptly, House stood, reaching for a cane. Robert stared.

“Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

“You will?” He asked stupidly, still unsteady by the whole encounter. House didn’t reply, just rolled his eyes and limped away. Robert showed himself out.

Three weeks later, HR sent over his contract. He would have thought it was a mistake if not for his personal details at the top. He almost laughed. House hadn’t called him after all, but he’d still gotten the job.

…

The move to Princeton and getting set up at the hospital went smoothly. He had more than enough funds to rent somewhere close to the hospital and it wasn’t like he’d accumulated a lot of things in the States. He wasn’t very sentimental by nature and so hadn’t even thought to redecorate his apartment with nick-knacks or buy a lot of new clothes. Although he knew how to dress for formal occasions and had a few bespoke suits – at his father’s behest – in Australia, the rest of the time Robert was a little lost. He hadn’t had a nanny since he could tie his own shoes and apart from T-shirts chosen to annoy his uncle-in-law, he’d never had any guidance on fashion. He only went shopping when absolutely necessary. His girlfriends usually had had to make more than a few comments before he’d been spurred to replace ratty socks and underwear, and then he just bought whatever seemed most normal.

His first day, 1st September 2001, he arrived half an hour early and was greeted by wincing and wary ‘good lucks’ from whoever he told where he was going. The other fellows arrived a few minutes before 9 and they introduced themselves.

Dr Winshaw was a tall man, but he slouched his shoulders so much that his head wasn’t that much higher above Robert’s. The lines of his face seemed deeper than they should have been on a man in his mid-thirties and he scoffed incredulously when his colleague, Dr Yan, told him how old Robert was – and who he was related to. Used to being underestimated because of his age and his father’s reputation, Robert managed to affect a casual shrug and steer the conversation to what he could expect in the job. Yan, roughly the same age as Winshaw but much younger looking, dove into what was obviously an often-related diatribe of horrors. Some, Robert had anticipated from what he’d already seen and heard of the man and some were more than a little incredulous. The two fellows just shook their heads sympathetically at his scepticism and drifted to what appeared to be their seats at the conference table. Winshaw propped his head up with his scarf to nap and Yan opened her laptop, explaining belatedly.

“We haven’t got a case at the moment so just…” After waiting a few minutes, Robert got out the newspaper he’d bought a few days ago and tried to finish the crossword. Around 12pm, Yan left for lunch and Winshaw slept on. Robert had finished the crossword, re-read all of the articles and was considering investigating the bookshelf. The others had warned him that House only showed up to the office when there was a case, which could pop up at any time.

The door opened and startled Robert out of his reverie. It was someone new.

“You must be Dr Chase.” Rising and shaking the man’s hand, he glanced at the badge. Dr Wilson, Head of Oncology. Seeing his puzzlement, Dr Wilson smiled. “My office is right next door and I consult with House sometimes.” His smile turned mysterious. “We’re also friends.” Robert blinked, unsure what to make of that. Wilson eyed Winshaw still snoring and then asked conversationally. “Has anyone show you the cafeteria yet?” So Robert found himself having lunch with House’s best friend. From first impressions, Robert would call him the antithesis of the antisocial doctor, though he knew better than most how much the top layer could hide. However, coupled with the fact that he suspected the friendly gesture was part of a weird hazing ritual, he was barely managing to keep up his side of the conversation, let alone do any investigating of his own. Luckily, he wasn’t asked anything he hadn’t carefully crafted answers for. He’d learned just as much about ‘fitting in’ and functioning in normal society as he had about medicine since he’d started university. And Dr Wilson seemed to count as normal society.

Lunch ended and the fellows returned to their wait. After nosing around the books for a while, Robert gave in to his curiosity and asked Yan what she was doing. Her reply – job hunting – was not encouraging. Though she clarified that she intended to complete her 2-year contract (1 year and 10 months to go, Winshaw muttered under his breath). Apparently they’d been hired at the same time and Winshaw had celebrated his 2-month anniversary the night before by going out on a bender.

“When Cuddy’s not distracted we sometimes get sent to do clinic hours or cover shifts in other departments.” Yan explained. “I want to go on to Paediatrics after this so I’ve been shadowing Dr Matthews whenever I can.” Winshaw grinned slyly.

“House doesn’t like that.” Yan countered primly.

“House doesn’t like a lot of things.”

5pm rolled around and the fellows left, Robert dragging his feet, head filled with questions. The next day, he was introduced to Cuddy, who welcomed him and then sent him to the clinic. He spent a frustrating few hours treating runny noses and upset stomachs. When he returned to the Diagnostics department, his heart leapt into his throat as he saw both Yan and Winshaw sitting at the table, Dr House standing in front of the whiteboard. He registered a few of the words in black marker as he hurried into the room. Fervent apologies fighting to escape his lips were cut off by Dr House’s dry opener.

“And I thought the British were meant to be punctual.” Blushing, Robert mumbled a simple apology and sat down. Winshaw was smirking but Yan just looked bored. As if the DDX hadn’t been interrupted, she said.

“How about an infection?” Swallowing, Robert studied the board and the patient file, trying to catch up as fast as possible. A few more suggestions from the others, House nodded, ordering the tests to confirm and then suddenly everyone was leaving. Still on the back foot, Robert looked around and managed to catch Yan’s eye. Unimpressed, still she beckoned and he followed her, sparing one last glance at House who was settling down on his desk chair. Having learnt that Winshaw had ‘forgotten’ to page him that they had a case, Robert shadowed Yan for that case, House neither objecting or noticing. In deference to Yan’s short patience, Robert tried to keep his questions to a minimum and concentrated on the tasks she delegated as if his life depended on it.

Over the first 6 weeks, Robert lived on edge, painfully aware that he had yet to contribute any winners in the differentials and that everyone else knew it too. He’d managed to come up with some alternate ideas which hadn’t been immediately shot down as idiotic, but it was clear that he was leagues behind the others. Whilst only House had ever come up with the final answer, Yan and even Winshaw (who was clearly burnt out) had both contributed directly to that realisation. Frustrated and terrified he’d be fired, Robert spent his free time reading up on past cases, rare afflictions and atypical presentations of common illnesses outside of his specialities. It wasn’t like he had much else to do anyway. Never a social butterfly to begin with, he didn’t have colleagues like those in New York who had invited him to drinks or other nights out. When he’d first moved there, he’d found an Aussie expat group that met up occasionally. Although there was a possibility of a similar group in Princeton, Robert didn’t even look; paranoid that he’d be jinxing things if he tried to put down roots.

He’d tried to call his sister a few more times, but she never answered. He knew through his aunt that she was still alive at least. So he gave up. If she wanted to talk to him, she’d call. If…

The thing was, although he was miserable and scared and lonely all the time, he also felt the most alive he’d felt since taking E under bridges in Melbourne. Med school had not been easy, although studious, he had been a middling performer at best, but this was even more challenging, maybe even impossible. He just couldn’t give up though. House had hired him, he must have seen something, potential, a spark of something. Only a few people in his life had believed in him. Robert was desperate to prove him right, to prove that he was worth something. He told himself that he had no idea if his father’s interference had got him the job and that part of him wasn’t trying to please a man half way around the world and even more emotionally distant.

Yan mostly ignored Robert’s presence and ideas, believing him to be too young and inexperienced to be any use but not invested enough in her job to be insulted. Winshaw, on the other hand, seemed to take offence, often making little smartass comments and mocking Robert’s ideas. House only seemed to encourage this, so the young doctor felt too intimidated – and afraid they were right – to protest. He just used his years of practice compartmentalising to ignore them and focus on the puzzle.

He started impressing House (well, he stopped causing the caustic doctor to face palm all the time) and, encouraged, continued to pour himself into research. Other parts of the job became easier too. The first time House sent him to break into someone’s place was Halloween. Winshaw was ordered to accompany him in case he ‘broke a nail’. Not even sure what to make of the insinuation, Robert had shoved it into the same box as everything else and went to have a crash course in breaking and entering. He followed Winshaw’s lead, acting casual as they made their way up the stairs to the apartment and stuck a credit card – one of Robert’s of course – into the lock, and then cavalier as they rooted around the patient’s home. He didn’t let himself consider the career-ending possibilities if they were caught – nor the likelihood of his speedy deportation back to Aus. They made it through without incident, though Winshaw made him break into the two locked rooms they came across, standing uncomfortably close behind him. If House’s comments about his long hair and fair looks were confusing, Winshaw’s were verging on creepy. He’d also caught the man staring at him through the shelving in the labs, though he hadn’t had the courage to challenge him about it. The expression was similar to the ones he’d seen in clubs. Whilst usually welcome there, it certainly wasn’t in the work place, especially from someone who seemed to hate him.

Then one day, quite without warning, Winshaw didn’t turn up for work. Yan didn’t seem to care and Robert couldn’t work up much concern either. It was a dry period so House probably didn’t even notice. By the end of the seventh day, Cuddy stormed up to find out why Winshaw hadn’t been answering his phone. Upon finding out that he’d been absent so long, she sent Robert to his home to check on him. Very reluctant, but wisely following orders, he complied.

Unsurprised by the lack of response to his knocking, he broke in and was relieved to find the place empty rather than occupied by a corpse. There was junk mail in the letter box and the perishables in the fridge had seen better days, almost expired, but there didn’t seem to be any clothes missing. It appeared as if Winshaw had simply left one morning and not returned. Concerned that he’d missed a colleague being hit by a car or murdered in an alleyway by being apathetic, he rang Cuddy and related his findings. The pause was telling, already he felt like he could predict fairly accurately her expression.

House, on the other hand, didn’t seem to even be interested in what had happened to one of his employees. (Apart from mock-accusing Cuddy of luring Winshaw to her lair to fuck and kill). Whatever was really going on between her and House, Robert didn’t want to know. At least, that was until Winshaw’s family confirmed that he hadn’t been in contact. Robert thought that House must have had a theory which had been disproven because despite them actually having a case, House threw himself into the Winshaw mystery.

Robert and Yan called, the speakerphone a poor replacement for the doctor’s presence, but they managed to muddle through until the patient took a turn in the night. They couldn’t get through to House. His latest theory had been proven wrong and they had nothing else. The patient’s vitals were tanking. Yan thought it was a fast-moving infection. Robert admitted that her diagnosis fit most of the symptoms, but something was bothering him: a niggle at the back of his mind. He found himself returning to one of the symptoms, which was still unexplained. He felt like he’d read something about it before, and recently… He dug into the research he’d been doing, searching into the early morning. Finally, half asleep and downing some cold coffee dregs, his eyes alighted on the right passage. Jumping up and almost ripping the page in his haste, he tried House but couldn’t get through. So he called Yan. Supremely irritated at being woken 3 hours before her alarm, she shrugged off his finding and reasserted her diagnosis before hanging up. Robert stared at the phone for a long moment.

It was true that he wasn’t certain, but if he was right, he thought as he rushed to return to the hospital, then there was a chance their patient would survive. Hurrying into the ward, he saw the family gathered together and weeping. An on-call doctor spotted him and came over. It was too late. The family okayed an autopsy and Robert’s diagnosis was confirmed.

When House reappeared, seemingly having given up on his quest, Robert explained what had happened, his voice cracking, eyes sore and posture slumped. House didn’t offer any reaction at all and after a moment, Robert turned and left the office. He felt angrier at his feeling of disappointment than House’s lack of reaction.

The next few cases, he tried to focus on the patient and symptoms, to not linger on House’s comments or shenanigans. It worked for a while; his heart aching less, until the Esther case.

In actuality, Esther had died years before, but the man with indigestion might as well have been her resurrected ghost for the way House treated the case. He had all three of them, himself included, studying the old case again for clues. Robert didn’t know why he was surprised that House had failed cases; no one was perfect after all. And yet House projected the impression that his intellect never wavered, never missed a clue or a diagnosis. After a lot of shouting and viciousness and fruitless searching, they concluded that it was food poisoning and sent the man on his way. Seeing House slumped in his thinking pose, fingering his pill bottle eroded Robert’s resolve. As much as he tried to deny it to himself, he wanted House’s approval.

Without Winshaw they were working harder than ever though Robert was starting to feel more confident without the snide and leery comments. Whilst not fully comfortable, he began to relax a little and suddenly it was Christmas.

…

He was still on friendly terms with his aunt, but he didn’t have many days of holiday and with the long flights it wouldn’t really be worth it. At least, that’s what he told Julia. He could tell that she was secretly relieved; she’d recently remarried and had a young step-kid to deal with. Whilst her daughter had her life together, Sandra was still hit and miss. Time spent with another family he didn’t belong to didn’t sound appealing. Travelling all the way back to Australia only for his sister to avoid him sounded even less so.

So he took the holiday shifts in the ICU and slept the rest of the time, watching infomercials and bad daytime movies when he couldn’t sleep. He considered going out and getting laid but he didn’t really have the energy. The weather was only slightly worse than the winter spent in England, although the heating in the hospital and his apartment was miles better than that of the Seminary. It started snowing a couple of days before the 25th December and it made him a little nostalgic for the searing, sandy Christmases of his childhood. No more Eton Mess for him. Though the last time he’d eaten one it had almost killed him; apparently he’d become allergic to strawberries and not, as the superstitious part of him suspected, because it hadn’t been made by his mother.

Idly, he wondered what House was doing. He knew from overheard conversations with Wilson that there was a Mama and Papa House, hard as that was to imagine. Perhaps he was there, perhaps he was a different person with his family, putting on an act of niceness, pretending not to be so miserable. Or maybe he was doing the same as Robert. That was even more depressing.

New Year’s Day, there was a pile up on the highway and everyone on-call was redistributed to the ER. Robert lost himself in the automatic responses he’d cultivated in his ER rotation. The hospital was different but the habits, the rush, the lulls and long stretches of paperwork were the same. As he clocked off that evening, one of the nurses who’d low-level flirted with him whenever he’d dropped by the nurses’ station caught his eye. They had a silent conversation from across the hall and met in the car park. She followed him home and they had desperate, rough sex on the kitchen counter. Panting and exhausted, they managed to stumble into his - thankfully made – bed and slept through till morning. Robert woke to her getting dressed sometime before noon but after sleepily confirming that she didn’t need anything, went back to sleep.

Yan returned from visiting her family, arriving at the office at 8:55am sharp like always, but Robert could tell from her expression that something was wrong. She waited until after they’d made awkward small talk before announcing that she was leaving, effective in 2 weeks. Apparently she’d negotiated her notice period down with Cuddy. Robert didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t like Yan, but her leaving would make him the most experienced member of the team. The only member of the team. Robert wasn’t ready for that. Of course, House could just go through the pile of CVs on his desk to solve the problem. But would he?

One afternoon, Wilson requested Robert’s help in shortlisting them. To make things easier for the boss. Not wanting to point out his own set of biases, Robert sifted through, discarding those with too little experiences and those with too much promise. Yan left with little fanfare and Robert’s anxiety heightened as he rattled around the office by himself. After two days of clinic duty, nerves bubbling, he was summoned.

“And then, there was one.” He tried not to fidget under the laser-like gaze, instead looking in House’s general direction. “New case.” He threw the file over and they were off – one offering diagnoses that the other shot down. Occasionally, there was a pause when Robert was thinking where ordinarily someone else would have been chipping in, but on the whole it felt like usual. House sent him off to do some tests and muttered not-quite under his breath: “Need to go over those résumés again.” Robert hurried off to the patient’s room, trying not to feel inadequate.

There followed a rash of interviews and short-lived hires. Those Cuddy tried to slide in – all highly intelligent, motivated and hardy – still had no chance with the beast. Although he could have gotten along with any of them, Robert had felt threatened by them all, even though he knew House would most likely instantly take against anyone Cuddy had endorsed. He was glad to see them all go for one manufactured reason or another. He felt like surviving House was like a badge of honour, a testament of endurance and grit – even though he’d actually suffered worse. Others didn’t agree. The sexually promiscuous nurses, admins and doctors flirted and occasionally propositioned him, his reputation as a discreet and decent (not to mention convenient) lay making him a more than appealing option. Everyone else who took notice of his existence labelled him a sycophant. Worse, a crazy sycophant who had chosen House of all people to try and impress. Robert didn’t like being looked down on or judged, but it was nothing new. If confronted with this view of him, he’d just grit his teeth and get on with it.

The only exception seemed to be Wilson, who didn’t seem to have any opinion about him. He was as friendly to him as he was to everyone else. Robert wasn’t sure how helpful that was, but it was something.

As he ate cereal in front of the TV at 7pm or sat in traffic or stared at the ceiling whilst in the bath, trying to relax the tension in his shoulders, he told himself that everything was fine. He was getting better in differentials, he’d proved himself worth keeping – at least for the moment – and he had a roof over his head. The aching chasm in his chest was so familiar it might as well be part of his anatomy. What did it matter if no one called him Robert anymore? He was Dr Chase. He was worth something now.

…

One day, around 11am, he was enjoying some free time in the office, legs crossed at the ankle and pen in his mouth as he contemplated the day’s crossword, when there was a knock on the door. A dainty looking woman was standing there, awkwardly clutching a book bag with a coat under one arm. He waved her in.

“Interview? House isn’t here yet.” She glanced at her watch and smiled sheepishly.

“I guess I am here a little early.” She walked over with her hand outstretched. “Dr Alison Cameron: immunologist.” Deciding that she probably wouldn’t be up for a drink when House wouldn’t hire her, he only half-got up and accepted the hand.

“Chase.” He nodded to the kitchenette. “Coffee’s there.” Then he sat down again and went back to his crossword. After a few moment’s hesitation, she went over and looked.

“Any mug is fine?” He grunted a yes but didn’t look up. There was a long awkward quiet as she poured and took a sip. “So…are you one of his fellows?” Sighing, he kicked out the chair across from him.

“9 letters: Inclusion bodies seen in sarcoidosis.” It took her a moment but she got it, sitting and trying.

“Schaumann?” He considered.

“Thanks…and yes, I’ve been here 6 months and I’ve seen double that number of people come and go.” Before she could respond, the door opened and House limped in.

“Chase,” he admonished as Cameron stood up and extended her hand, “you can’t keep using this office as a hook-up space.” Mouth opening a little in shock, looking between the two men, Dr Cameron quickly recovered.

“Dr Cameron, I’m here for the fellowship interview. Are you Dr House?” He gave her an obvious once-over.

“Yuhuh, definitely I am. Right this way.” Chase sighed again as they went into his office, trying to go back to his puzzle. His eye kept on being drawn back to them though, curiosity growing as the interview continued. Why hadn’t she stormed out yet? Why hadn’t House invented an excuse to leave? Chase began to get a churning sensation in his gut. Sure there was no call-girl test – though he was still in two minds over whether it had actually been planned or not – but this seemed like…They finally got up and… shook hands?! Cameron waved to a stunned Chase on her way out. House grinned and came in.

“Aw, you’re just upset that you won’t be the prettiest one around here anymore. Don’t worry, you’ll still have the girliest hair.” Without thinking, Chase asked.

“You’re actually hiring her?” House tilted his head.

“Just in time too, seeing as how your deductive skills have really gone down the drain.” Trying to shrug off the insult didn’t work as well as normal; still he persisted.

“Have you hired anyone else?” The boss just tapped his nose.

“Oh young Robert, it’s a dog eat dingo world.” Then he limped off, leaving Chase sitting agape like an idiot. Eventually, he unfroze enough to look down at his crossword. Suddenly angry, he scrunched up the paper and tossed it in the trash.

Sure enough, she was there before he was on Monday morning. So bright and perky and wholesome that he could almost smell the fresh yoghurt on her breath as she greeted him. Over the weekend, he’d been through a vicious cycle of stressing over her appointment and what it meant for him, then calming himself by remembering how much value he brought to the differentials and how he _had_ helped House all by himself, until he’d think about how much better than him this new fellow could be. Considering that, his greeting wasn’t very warm. She seemed to have been prepared for that though, not noticeably taking offence as he shrugged off his jacket and got out his paper without showing any interest in small talk. Instead she got out a notebook and waited.

9:15 and she shifted slightly. Vivid recollections from his first few days flashed before his eyes and he sighed.

“We don’t have a case yet today. I recommend the Freidman, the Neuroimmune Circuits one. They published it last year.” She glanced where he indicated before asking.

“Are there any old case files I could look at?” Damn, she wasn’t all looks. Reluctantly, he got up and showed her the files.

“They’re organised by classification of diagnosis: cancer, autoimmune, infection…or they were.” Since Yan had left, Chase had been stuffing them in with decreasing care the longer he’d been the only permanent fellow.

“Do you mind if I tidy it up a little? I’m particular that way.” He shrugged and returned to his puzzle, though he ended up mostly watching her out of the corner of his eye. 12:30 rolled around and she was clearly hungry but taking her cue from him. Internally sighing, he folded his paper and got up.

“Anyone shown you-” The door opened and Wilson came in to make his introductions. Chase slipped out and left them to it, not caring what it looked like.

…

The first case with Dr A. Cameron was a doozy: twin toddlers presenting different symptoms. No other children in their playgroup were sick, not that the workaholic parents would know. The history taken from the nanny didn’t show any environmental causes for the differing symptoms and when Chase searched the house and garden, he didn’t find anything unusual – though of course he took samples. Cameron baulked when she learned how Chase had collected the samples and talked about how unethical it was. Chase let her and House argue undisturbed, only stepping in when Cameron was rendered speechless by a Housism to put forward his idea. Considering, House couldn’t find fault and sent him off to treat and Cameron to confirm. This sparked another debate about treating before confirmation.

Later, he wondered why House had hired someone who would argue with him at every turn. Did he _want_ to be challenged? That was the only motivation that made sense. Chase didn’t see the likelihood of Cameron ever agreeing to sleep with the man so surely House had realised that too. It couldn’t be a desire for unrequited lust in the office; there had been plenty of candidates that wouldn’t have had sex with House, though none of them had been that beautiful…Could it have been a purely aesthetic decision? No, he could have hired an airhead or hooker for that.

Wanting to prove this theory, he went to the lab. Before he could speak, however, she saw him approach and worriedly informed him that he was wrong. Now annoyed as well as confused, he stalked back to the office with her in tow. They did another DDX, this time with a grimmer diagnosis.

In the end, they managed to save one of them. Kids were the worst, Chase reflected, as he offered to tell the parents. Cameron took his offer gratefully and her wet eyes suddenly gave him the urge to pat her on the arm or say something trite and comforting. He swallowed it down though, and went to do his job.

…

Over the next six months, Chase adjusted to the new dynamic in the department. They had hardly any cases, which Chase should have expected. He’d initially assumed that with attractive new eye candy, House would want to have more excuses to see her but of course, Chase’s assumption was proven incorrect. As a person, she was fine. A little annoying with her moralising and overly caring (read: meddling) tendencies but he generally managed to ignore most of it and bite down his flippant remarks the rest of the time. She was a very good doctor with a sharp mind, which made her extra annoying – and threatening. He was so intimidated by her potential to supplant him that he didn’t even contemplate asking her out, or even imagining having sex with her (that much). Of course he imagined a little, he couldn’t help it: she was very beautiful, and he was a red-blooded male. He’d pictured what sex would be like with almost all the eligible people he met, women and a few highly attractive men.

As to what Dr A. Cameron thought of him, he had an idea: lazy, rich-boy player who kissed House’s arse with barely a flinch. Well, she wasn’t all wrong. Though she was just as bad as he was. After the shock of House’s behaviour had faded and she’d seen glimpses of the soft underbelly beneath all the barbed retorts and childish antics, she’d promptly fallen in love with him. Another lance in any sexual interest he might have had in her. Just picturing House nude made him shudder.

With Cameron taking over the bulk of the administrative work and no signs of House hiring any new fellows, Chase found himself relaxing a little. He’d spent most of his life working towards something and taking care of other people. Now, it was almost like what he imagined a working holiday would feel like. Working intensely for short periods with plenty of time for leisure. Of course he still kept up-to-date with all the latest relevant medical developments, as well as research areas he wasn’t as familiar with – if only to one-up Cameron as much as possible.

The rest of the time was spent exploring Princeton – the gyms and parks and the nightlife. He joined some of the ER and ICU staff for drinks occasionally, pretending to be oblivious to a new nurse’s crush on him whilst assessing who would be amenable to a quick root*. He hadn’t had a serious relationship since Kristen and frankly didn’t want one. Working for House – despite the generous gaps between cases – was hardly conducive to a wife and kids. Long, unsocial hours when they did have a difficult case were the norm. Anyway, he was way too young to be thinking of settling down. He’d been working his ass off for years to get where he was, wasn’t it fair that he had some time to enjoy himself?

He still exchanged calls and emails with his aunt every so often, every time tentatively enquiring over his still silent sister. She had somehow pulled herself together enough to graduate from high school and was currently figuring out what she wanted to do with her life. It was likely that the near future would contain a lot of partying and sleeping the days away, but she wasn’t a lost cause. Julie often commented that the parent support group she went to had similar stories with happy endings, and she wasn’t going to give up on her niece. Hurt that she hadn’t reached out to him but afraid to find out the exact reason, he stayed away and threw himself more and more into his new US life.

Things were good, better than they had ever been. So of course House had to disturb the balance somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I prescribe to the theory that Chase’s dad called House to ask him not to hire his son. It’s possible that he did call and House had another reason to hire Chase – I don’t believe that House would have hired him just because his father had asked – but I like the idea that House was being contrary and wanted to figure out the dynamic between the father and son.  
> *to root = to have sex with (Aussie slang)

**Author's Note:**

> If not immediately obvious, all I know about Catholic schools, seminaries and Australian medical school is from google. Forgive me any mistakes and let me know if I can make any corrections.  
> *Toobs = tomato flavour potato chips in a ring shape  
> So I tried to incorporate as much House canon as possible, but I did start writing this before re-watching the whole series so some things might be inaccurate but I kind of liked them so decided to keep them. When I first watched House (as it was airing), I loved it but decided I could never write fics for it as I couldn’t capture House. I still don’t think I’ve got him right, but re-watching, I really fell in love with Chase’s story: from spineless jerk to competent (if damaged) diagnostician. He’s like House-lite, has difficulty opening up and trusting people (at least romantically) and covers up his deep feelings with humour and cynicism.


End file.
